


Envy

by AGlassRoseNeverFades



Series: Our Sins [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Green-Eyed Monster, Implied Feelings, Jealousy, Love Triangle, M/M, No Sex, Oh Wait You're In Prison, Running's Gonna Be Kinda Hard, Seriously Will Just Run Away as Fast as You Can, Two Psychopaths in Unrequited Love with the Same Man, Well Sucks to Be You
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGlassRoseNeverFades/pseuds/AGlassRoseNeverFades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief vignette on how a conversation between Hannibal Lecter and Matthew Brown might go, after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Envy

It is mere days after the abduction and attempted murder of one Doctor Hannibal Lecter, yet here the man stands, a little the worse for wear perhaps but dignified as ever, standing serenely in his office to await clearance for his latest visit.

Chilton doesn’t even bother to act surprised.

“I’m not sure this is wise, Hannibal,” he says before the other man can speak. Rude perhaps, but he’s sure Hannibal understands. “Especially after…”

“I am not here to see Will,” interrupts Hannibal, and this _does_ shock him. Not just that the man would respond so abruptly or discourteously, but the words themselves as well.

Lecter tilts his head downward, both in silent apology and contemplation, and reconsiders his words. “I am not here _just_ to see Will,” he amends, and it is a given that Frederick will allow him to do so regardless, his own agreement with Graham be damned. It may be against his own scholarly interests, but Lecter is a friend of sorts after all, and Frederick can recognize the importance of allowing his friend an opportunity to confront his own (literal, living and breathing) personal demon.

“I should like to speak with Mr. Brown first,” Hannibal finishes, and Chilton nods. He had been expecting it since Hannibal first interrupted him.

He calls the guard station over the intercom, asks them to prepare an interrogation cage for their former orderly. If he grits his teeth while giving the order, feeling one part admiration for his friend’s courage and one part burning jealousy that he still cannot be just as brave in the face of his own would-be murderer, neither the guards nor Hannibal make mention of it.

*

“Well, hello there,” says Brown as Lecter strolls in, looking for all the world like a bored prince lounging on his throne despite the bars surrounding him, and the heavy bandaging padded over his chest that Lecter can see through the thin material of his dark blue jumpsuit.

The casual comfort with his environment suggests a man who is just as used to being on this side of the cage as outside of it, far more at home than his dear Will or even the illustrious and ever-at-ease Abel Gideon.

“What’s the matter, Doctor Lecter, cat got your tongue?” he asks when Lecter says nothing. Grinning and giggling like a child as though this simple cliché is the cleverest retort anyone could ever devise, or rather because he believes it is all that he needs, because he has looked Lecter over and found _him_ wanting, undeserving of the full use of his own intellect, which is certainly much keener than he lets it appear.

“It is good to formally make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Brown,” says Lecter, stepping closer but not bothering to take a seat. This won’t be long. “May I call you Matthew?”

_“You may,”_ says Brown with a drawn-out lilt and a sketch of a bow in his direction, in mock-deference and a deliberate overblown caricaturization of good manners that sets Hannibal’s teeth on edge.

Matthew waits until he knows Hannibal is about to speak, chirps up just as the man opens his mouth with, “Let’s cut the foreplay, Doc, and get right to the good stuff. You’re the one who really did all those murders Mr. Graham is accused of, aren’t you?”

Hannibal must be cautious here. He knows that Frederick is listening in, his ears no doubt perked up and unconsciously on the edge of his seat at these words, wondering how the other psychiatrist will react to this accusation and perhaps, in some other tiny and dangerous part of his admittedly intelligent if somewhat misguided brain, just _wondering._

“Did Will tell you this?” he asks. He allows a small smirk to grace his lips, one he knows the low-quality cameras won’t catch. “Perhaps to distract you from your goals and deflect your…affections elsewhere. Is that why you came after me at the pool?”

His anger toward the incident is still fresh, slowly festering inward but not towards the man in front of him. He almost admires Brown for his pluck and resourcefulness, even if he finds the use of a tranquilizer dart to be rather graceless and craven. He is furious with himself when he thinks of how easily it was done, how easily _he_ was almost beaten by this slight, spineless insect of a man.

“You know why I went after you at the pool,” says Brown with a knowing smirk of his own. “No, Will didn’t tell me that. In fact, I think he’s worried he’ll _lose_ my affections if he does.” The way the man’s eyes warm visibly as he presumes to speak of _his_ Will by first name makes Hannibal’s hands curl into fists in his pockets.

Brown leans closer, curling his hands almost suggestively around the bars as he whispers, _“He needn’t be.”_

“And why is that?” Hannibal finds himself asking even though, strangely, he doesn’t really want to know the answer, would rather remove his hands from his pockets and wrap them around the other’s throat to keep him from saying anything more.

“Cuz I can see what’s really in there same as you, Doc. Really, I have to thank you sometime for kicking him my way.” Matthew doesn’t bother to hide his feelings on the matter in any way. He allows them to make their home in his expression, his eyes, his loose-limbed posture. Hannibal can even detect a small change in the air when the man shifts, a bare hint of the beginnings of arousal.

Hannibal curls his lips in distaste. The man’s display is open, vulgar, _obscene,_ and a perfect reflection of everything Hannibal himself feels whenever he thinks of Will but hides behind his cold, impassive mask.

He tells himself he does not envy Matthew Brown for his proud, open confession of his own desires.

“He is using you,” Hannibal parries.

“Well, _of course_ he is,” says Brown, as though it would _offend_ him to even suggest Will would do otherwise. “Smart guy like him, he’d be crazy not to. And I’m more than happy to be useful to Will, _in_ _whatever way he needs me to be.”_

This is not going at all the way he wanted. The monster within Hannibal is almost shuddering with a need to reach out and tear this unexpected would-be rival to pieces, to rend him limb from limb and feed him to Will, thus ending all this pointless peacocking and fight for dominance over _his_ potential mate.

“The real question here,” Matthew breathes, seemingly unaware of Hannibal’s inner turmoil, “is which of us is gonna succeed in getting that beautiful beast to break out of his shell.” He leans back into his lazy, leisurely posture from before and grins. “I gotta say I like my odds, Doc. After all, the man already looked me straight in the eye once and asked me to _kill for him.”_

“That may be true,” says Hannibal, allowing his own dark smile to return at last. “But he did, after all, ask you to kill _me.”_

The grin on Matthew’s face fades as Hannibal’s meaning sinks in. He averts his gaze and twitches discontentedly in his seat. Hannibal has a perfect view of the man’s own jealousy on his still-unguarded features.

After a minute of this, he visibly forces himself to still, flicks his eyes miserably back up at Hannibal, and says, “Guess we’re at a stalemate for now then.”

Hannibal allows his own smile to widen just a fraction, victorious, before he schools it back into his usual expressionless mask and turns his back, walking away and signaling the guards waiting at the door with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Say, boys,” Brown’s voice carries to him as the prisoner’s attention turns to the men restraining him. “After the good doctor leaves, you think you could tell old Chilton I’d like a word? I wanna talk to him about what cell he’s assigning me to after the stitches come out.”

Hannibal’s hand freezes on the door handle. A sudden image flashes through his mind of Matthew Brown sitting at the end of his cot in the cell directly across from Will’s, feet planted comfortably away from each other with knees apart, forgoing any form of subtlety in his amorous declarations and flirting shamelessly. He sees Will sit as well in the same open posture and flirt right back, and even knowing it to be nothing more than a blatant manipulation on Will’s part, his inner monster growls and sees red.

He does not dare turn back and look at the unabashedly triumphant leer he is positive Brown is throwing his way now. Nor does he contemplate the man’s chance of success in getting the cell assignment he wants as he walks out and waits for them to prepare the room anew for Will.

He could attempt to warn Frederick against giving in to such a request, but in doing so he would risk giving away part of the nature of his own interest in Will. It might be worth the risk if he could be sure such a caution would not fall on deaf ears, but Frederick has a condemnable streak of curiosity that outpaces his professionalism. Matthew’s suggestion and the possibilities of what may come of it will intrigue him immensely. His capitulation is a foregone conclusion, Hannibal realizes with a barely contained grimace.

One of the guards calls his name, tells him that Matthew Brown has been removed from the room and Will Graham is now ready and waiting on the other side of the door. He takes a deep breath and rises. Brown has him outmaneuvered for the moment, will now have the advantage of near-constant, almost unlimited access to his precious empath—access Chilton may _deny Lecter_ once again after today per his and Will’s agreement—so he must make this conversation count.

With a nod to acknowledge the guard’s words, Hannibal once again grasps the handle in front of him and opens the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Felt like taking a (very short) break from working on De Profundis for a moment since this little plot bunny snuck into my head after the last episode. I don't intend to do more with this, but who knows? I'm oddly a little attached to Matthew after writing this. I guess we'll see. xD
> 
> Also, please check out the Chinese translation by the fantastic Finrod when you get a chance: http://www.mtslash.com/thread-113851-1-1.html  
> Login ID：authors  
> Password：123456789


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